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Monthly Archives: January 2015

Kylee contacted me and said she’d like some new portraits done. Here’s one I took of her last summer:

Kylee is pretty comfortable in front of the camera so I knew she’d be up for doing something out of the ordinary. All I needed was a clever idea. I waited a few days for inspiration to strike then remembered that I love pictures of tiny little shrunken people.

I’ve never shrunken anyone before, so I took Boy12 with his frying pan…

…and used my shrink ray to have him help out Captain America who is totally losing this fight against Red Skull.

Looks like Boy12 is handy in a fight:

It looks great, except you can tell that Boy12 isn’t really standing on the top of his desk like Red Skull is. Also, as far as I know Boy12 isn’t Peter Pan or a vampire so where is his shadow and reflection?

Cropped out the feet:

Much better.

I suggested to Kylee we could build a Lincoln Log house and have her creeping up to it (in tall grass to hide her feet) and title it “Goldilocks,” but Kylee told me she dyed her hair red.

Kylee! Red? Really?? Goldilocks doesn’t have red hair! Models ought to consult with their photographers before they go around dying their hair. Kylee solved the problem by changing the title to “Little Red Riding Hood.”

I had to leave him at the vet overnight for blood work. I warned the vet technician, “He’s a bit difficult to deal with.” She poo-poo’d me. Everyone thinks their cat is a special wild snowflake. Back up and let the professionals deal with your “wild” cat.

Ok then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The next time I dropped him off for blood work the receptionist called out the alarm to the rest of the staff, “It’s Richard! Richard is here!” The vet technician appeared, face intent and focused, wearing heavy leather gloves that went up to her elbow. She stuck a piece of masking tape that read “DANGER!” on Richard’s carrying case.

Respect. That’s the word for it. They finally showed some Respect.

When we’d go away on vacation we tried to hire young adventurers to feed Richard: you know, people who juggle balls of fire or bungee jump. They all turned us down. Too risky. My mother-in-law was forced to feed him. She would arrive armed with a cookie baking sheet as a shield against the hissing, puffed up Richard. You’d think he’d be grateful for the food but if there was ever an animal to bite the hand that feeds it, it was Richard.

One day my dad visited and had let down his guard. Big mistake. He walked through our narrow hallway within cat-arm’s length of Richard’s claws. Richard was immediately affronted and quick as a viper, slapped my dad’s leg as he walked by. My dad was wearing jeans but Richard’s swipe was strong enough to draw blood through the jeans.

And let me tell you something. There are people who like cats and then there are Cat People. Here’s the difference between people who like cats and Cat People:

My dad immediately apologized to Richard for upsetting him and then rhapsodized about how strong Richard was. “That’s a strong cat! He managed to draw blood through my jeans! What an animal!”

Richard died a few years ago. Diabetic shock. We were all pretty upset.

But now we have Cat and just two days ago we got Myles. Cat came to us declawed, but Myles has his claws. After playing with Myles, Boy12 came up to me bleeding on the thumb and said, “Poor little Myles. I was playing with him and he scratched me.”

An hour or so later Boy9 comes up to me, a scratch on his hand, “I was playing with sweet little Myles. I’ll have to be more careful next time.”

Cat People adore the cats who torment them and take all the blame for any bloodshed. Cat People don’t hit cats or toss them outside if they get a little scratch. Cat people unconditionally love their terrible sweeties and recognize their awesome magnificence.

No, the relationship between cats and Cat People is not a healthy one, people, but one little purr and it’s all worth it.

So, it’s a Tuesday afternoon at 3:11. My kitchen hasn’t been cleaned in 3 days so it looks like I haven’t touched it in 71 years. Kitchens are the Lamborghini of rooms. 0-60 in 2.8 seconds. Sparkling clean to health hazard before your last bite of Cap’n Crunch at breakfast.

So, it’s a Tuesday afternoon at 3:11 and I’m elbows deep in the freezer. If you know me then you know I’m completely miserable. Freezers are cold. You ever watched Scrooge? Not Scrooged. Just Scrooge. It’s a version of A Christmas Carol. During the Ghost of Christmas Future scenes we find out that Scrooge dies next Christmas. The movie shows Scrooge dead in hell being forced to work like Bob Cratchit in a freezing cold room. Freezing cold for eternity? That’s hell, people.

So, it’s a Tuesday afternoon at 3:11 and I’m elbows deep in hell the freezer and the phone rings. Well now I’m not only cold and miserable but I’m also annoyed because I hate talking on the phone. Send me a text message. I will not return your calls. I won’t. Stop trying to make me. I paused to listen as the answering machine picked up the call just in case it was important.

So, it’s a Tuesday afternoon at 3:12 and we’re flying down the road dodging the elementary school kids on their way home from school. Get out of the way! And that’s when I remember that I left all my frozen hamburger patties scattered all over the kitchen floor. ARGH.

Drop kids at the dentist, head back home to stuff everything back in the freezer, head back to the dentist.

But hey–the reason I forgot the dentist today is because we unexpectedly took the day off from school to go get a new kitten. Two hour round trip. Totally forgot about mundane things like dental appointments.

See, I don’t much like music. I mean, I like music, sure, but just not much of it. I don’t own music. I might have owned maybe 10 music cds in my entire four decades of existence. So this Christmas, 14 years after iTunes was created and 3 years since I’ve had my ipad, I finally asked Darling Husband to teach me how to buy music on iTunes so I can listen to all the songs I like.

For the past two months I’ve been creating a list of all the songs that I like so I would be ready to download them on Christmas day when I got my iTunes gift card. There are 109 songs on the list.

That’s it. That’s the complete list.

Some people adore music and play it all the stinkin’ time. Drives me nuts. I told you about that one time I went to a therapy session and the therapist had some quiet music playing in the background. I couldn’t help my eyes from glancing at the cd player. She said, “Is that too loud for you?” “Yes.” “You can turn it down.” I did. But still kept glancing at that irritating noise. Why do people play noise when they’re trying to talk to someone? Irritating. She said, “Is it still too loud?” “Can we just turn it off?” “Sure.” “Has anyone ever asked to turn off the music before?” “No.” I’m a trendsetter, I am.

With only 109 favorite songs in all the world, this music must be something else, huh? It must be the best of the best. The most beautiful or meaningful music in the world. Right?

Nah. I’m rabidly defensive of my 109 music choices because they stink. They’re really bad. They’re terrible songs. They’re cheesy. The only reason I like them is because they’re catchy and easy to sing along with. That’s it. That’s my criteria. Super catchy; can sing along. Done. Only 109 songs fit the bill.

While the rest of you are listening to a cool jazz medley while cooking some exotic foodie meal in the kitchen, I’m listening to Play that Funky Music White Boy and eating my Royal Farms chicken on a tv tray. Yes, really. Play that Funky Music is one of my all-time top 109 favorites. Already been purchased and downloaded.

Two days ago, for the first time EVER in 22 years of marriage, Darling Husband asked me what songs were my favorites–what songs had I bought with my Christmas gift? Ooo. Risky. He pressed the issue. “Why are you so afraid to show me your list? What do you think will happen?”

What did I think would happen? What did I think would happen?!

What would happen is that he wouldn’t be able to help himself from losing respect for me. I mean, Play that Funky Music?? That’s a horrible song! (Oooo! I’m sorry, Funky Music! You’re not a horrible song! Forget I said that! I still love you!)

He said, “It’ll be fine. You can show me.”

So I did, with trepidation. He was ok with many of my song choices, but he did say that Play that Funky Music was really bad and just couldn’t be forgiven.

And then he showed me the songs he likes. Oh yuck. They’re classical Chinese music and I don’t know what else. Bizarre stuff. I made fun of them. Darling Husband pointed out, ‘Looks like the only person making fun of the other person’s music choices is you.”

Ouch! He was right.

Since my tastes are pretty juvenile, let’s end this post with a song I’ve loved since I was 8 years old. Stray Cat Strut. Ooo. Such a great song! I love you, Stray Cat Strut!